The Benefit of the Doubt
by red wild sparkles
Summary: "Who do you admire, Cassandra?" Divine Justinia's question yields an unexpected answer. Character study.
**The Benefit of the Doubt**

" _[What they see] is not all that I am. I believe that, even though it is hidden from me."  
–Mark Jarman, "Epistle 2 – Listening to you"_

* * *

"Who do you admire, Cassandra?"

Cassandra looked up from her papers. "Most Holy?"

Straight into the grip of Justinia's eyes, as palpable as hands on her temples. Cassandra had served the Divine for seven years, and found her only more perceptive with the passage of time. "Who do you admire?" Justinia repeated, holding her gaze.

"The Hero of Ferelden," Cassandra said after a beat. "She gave her life to end the Blight, a fate so many others would have approached with dread. Yet in her writings, she counted it a joy to embrace what she saw as her duty."

"And?"

For a long time, Cassandra had believed that the Divine conducted these dialogues for her spiritual development. It still amazed her that Justinia considered their conversations to be to their mutual benefit. She chose her words with care. "Byron, my mentor in the Seekers. Hawke, though I do not altogether agree with her methods."

Justinia leaned forward slightly. "I know all those already. Who else?"

Very reluctantly, Cassandra said, "Leliana."

"Ha!" Justinia let out a snort of laughter, though the wrinkled around the corners of her eyes were kindly. "It does your soul good to say it aloud, but I assure you, I knew _that._ Come. I don't presume to know everything about you. Surprise me."

Cassandra frowned. After a long moment, she said hesitantly, "There is a man I have not thought about in some time. It was a strange and momentary encounter. I am not even sure if my memory is reliable, or if I recall of it – only what I wish to believe."

"You know that I love you, my child," Justinia said gently. "Here we may talk freely."

As she spoke, the walls of the Divine's inner chamber seemed to hug them close in the steady candlelight. Cassandra tended to guard the few true secrets that she had, but she'd also found that she could tell Justinia anything – Justinia, who had helped her realize her heart's most secret longing to be more fully known.

Cassandra cleared her throat, looked away for a moment. "This was about… eighteen years ago, at the beginning of my service to Divine Beatrix. As early as my first month, I believe. Disgracefully early for me to have requested a leave of absence."

She'd told Beatrix that she need to attend to some personal affairs in Nevarra, alluded to fears that her uncle Vestalus was unwell, then set off on horseback at a pace she knew would be difficult to follow. When she was certain that no one was behind her, she changed her course and headed for the chantry at Greenfell.

Everything about this was wrong – lying to the Chantry, commandeering Chantry resources, and tapping into Chantry networks to learn that Regalyan D'Marcall would be visiting this chantry, this week, in his official capacity as a newly minter Senior Enchanter. Cassandra had plenty of opportunities on the journey to turn around, but each time, she muted her conscience and rode on.

She didn't really think that Regalyan would be happy to see her, but she'd had hopes of changing his mind.

The Greenfell chantry was small, but its proximity to Orlais made it politically significant. Cassandra had familiarized herself with the building's layout beforehand, as well as the Templars' duty roster. There would be a servants' entrance only lightly guarded late at night. Having tied up her horse some distance away and approached quietly on foot, she was half-dismayed to find no one on surveillance at all. It seemed a final sting to her moral sense that she wouldn't be able to report the lapse.

Inconspicuous in a dark, bulky cloak she'd taken from a cache of chantry donations back in Orlais – and who was she, to be stealing from the poor? – Cassandra slipped unnoticed through the servants' quarters. From there, it was easy enough to locate the guest wing. That was as far as her information went. She figured her best bet was to start from the grandest room and work her way down.

("Ah, for those days of security," Justinia remarked, somewhat ruefully. With the Conclave just a month away, happier times between mages and Templars had been on her mind.)

The door to the suite on the uppermost floor was closed, but from outside Cassandra had seen the curtains aglow with candlelight. As she crossed the landing silently, she heard a low murmur of conversation. Regalyan. Only he wasn't alone.

She would wait until the visitor had gone. She was just about to turn away when she heard a bright, high giggle. A woman moaned. "Galyan." The unmistakable sound of a slap.

Cassandra froze. However long she stood there listening was more than enough to confirm that she hadn't been mistaken. All thoughts of asking Regalyan if he'd received her letters – of pleading with him to remember what he'd said to her before – these were exposed for the foolish daydreams they were. She had never felt so humiliated.

Half stumbling back down to the servants' wing, she tried to turn her mind to all she would have to do next. Retrieve her horse and find an inn in the next town with stables – before dawn, preferably. She'd run the poor creature hard to get here, but they could be back by the Divine's side two or three days early if –

A fist closed around her wrist. She jerked her arm away, reflexively, but managed to stop herself from punching the man just in time. A Templar, Fereldan, armed. Too late to run now.

"I saw you come from upstairs. What were you doing?" he demanded.

"Oh," he said a moment later, taken aback. "You're crying." But he moved to position himself between her and the door, no less cautious.

She wiped her tears away with the back of one sleeve, thinking quickly. "One of the guests… sent for a woman. Please, ser – he made me promise not to tell."

He looked her over gravely. "Your story is plausible, unfortunately. But something tells me it isn't true."

Slowly she held out her hands, palms facing upward. "I carry no weapon."

"A skilled assassin needs none."

She shook her head. "I am not here to cause harm," she said, and before she could stop herself, "and you are not even on duty."

She saw his expression flicker, wondering how she knew. His hand went to the sword at his side. He wasn't in his full uniform – that was what had given him away – but only a trained eye could have discerned that.

"Who are you?" he asked, on full alert now.

Against her instincts, she stood her ground. "A friend of one of the chantry's guests. I only came seeking a private conversation. I swear by the Maker."

"Visitors who invoke the Maker's name so boldly may use the front door," he replied warily.

He took a step towards her. But there was only the moonlight filtering through a high dusty window, and there was the hood of her cloak and her long hair to hide the scars on her cheeks. He shouldn't be able to recognize her again, she thought, though years later she could still picture his face clearly – a scar slanted through his upper lip, deep creases to his eyes, curly blonde hair precisely combed back. Highly ranked for his youth. He would be in real position of authority now – assuming her infraction hadn't cost him his career.

Looking into his eyes, she said levelly, "Let this matter rest. Neither of us was supposed to be here tonight. My affairs were my own concern, nothing warranting an official report. It was commendable of you to step in when you discovered your subordinate had failed to report for duty. But you were not on duty tonight; you cannot be held accountable. I give you my word that I will not return."

He seemed on the verge of asking her another question. "My business here is done," she added, unable this time to suppress the tremor in her voice.

Did he recognize the truth, when at last she spoke it? Was that pity she saw in his eyes – or disgust?

He raised his hand, but she relaxed when she saw him make the gesture for peace. "Then walk in the Maker's light," he said softly.

"There is nothing hidden that will not come to light," she supplied in response, already hurrying to the door.

As she passed him, she thought she heard him whisper roughly, "Do not make me regret letting you go."

He watched her leave. As surely as she kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't raise the alarm. He was still standing there, leaning one hand against the door frame, when she finally turned and ran.

* * *

"I have never told anyone this," Cassandra said to Justinia presently, shifting under the older woman's piercing gaze. "There was of course the matter of misconduct on my part. But more than that, I was deeply ashamed of who I had become. In those days I was insecure enough in my position as Divine Beatrix's Right Hand. There were many who felt I was undeserving of such an honor. Every day, I felt like an impostor. Do not misunderstand me, Most Holy – I have loved my time in the Chantry's service. But I wonder to this day if it would have been better for that Templar to have kept to the letter of the law and exposed me. It was what I deserved."

"Evidently he did not think so." Justinia paused. "And still, you admire him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He gave a stranger the benefit of the doubt. As I have struggled to do, time and time again."

Justinia nodded, looking satisfied. Cassandra let out a long sigh.

"What do you think, Most Holy?" she ventured.

"I think the same of you as I always have, my dear." Justinia drew herself up, assumed a greater air of formality. "The Canticle of Andraste, 6:12. What does it say?"

"Maker, forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

"And the Canticle of Benedictions, 5:7?"

Cassandra bowed her head. "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy."

"So do not cling to your remorse," Justinia said lightly. "The Maker sees what is done in secret, and He rewards all who follow his ways.

"And good riddance to Regalyan D'Marcall," she added. "I did not know the details of the way you two parted. Perhaps I will have him seated behind a pillar at the Conclave, so I will not have to look at his philandering face."

Cassandra laughed, in spite of herself. "I had hoped to reach out to him there, actually. What happened between us was many years ago. We were so young then. Certainly I was needier. But those old wounds have healed. It is only that Templar I still think of with some kind of pain."

"Perhaps he still thinks of you." Justinia's smile was full of mischief. "I can think of worse punishments for such a tender-hearted young man."

Cassandra's cheeks burned. "It was not – nothing like _that,_ I am certain _._ Divine Justinia, sometimes I think you are the worst of us!"

"I most certainly am." Justinia chuckled. "Send in Leliana, when you leave. Goodnight, my child." She pressed her cheek against Cassandra's, then turned to receive the younger woman's kiss. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

When Cassandra had gone, Justinia leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, thinking. She had only a few minutes to wait before Leliana knocked, touching the secret spring that made the concealed door slide open.

"The reports you requested, Most Holy," she said, holding out a nugskin folio. "Candidates, according to my spies, for the Commander of the Inquisition."

Justinia accepted the folio and, flipping it open, ran her finger down the first page. "Cullen Rutherford?" she read, with some surprise. "Who in Thedas is he?"

Leliana shrugged. "He was Knight-Commander Meredith's second-in-command in Kirkwall. A nobody, but he rose quickly through the ranks. My agents spoke highly of him. By all accounts he's exactly what we're looking for. Cassandra and I can arrange to meet with him in a fortnight, while we're in Kirkwall investigating leads on Hawke."

Justinia turned over the list of places he'd served. "Hmm."

"Most Holy?"

"Yes." Justinia closed the folio with a snap. "I believe he will do."

Leliana was perplexed. "Most Holy, how do you know?"

"Just a hunch," Justinia said cheerfully. "Let Cassandra handle this one. Take the day off. See your Tal-Vashoth friend."

"Justinia?" Leliana stammered, looking shocked.

"Oh, carry on." Justinia waved a dismissing hand. "I may be an old woman, but I've got eyes."

* * *

After Leliana had left – humming happily – Justinia lowered herself to her aching knees and clasped her hands. Maker, she prayed, watch over the Inquisition. Establish the work of our hands.

We look to your perfect love, being weak and fallible, and a bunch of romantic fools.

Myself, as you know, most of all.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Lately I've been hung up on the idea that Cullen's been in love with Cassandra ever since she became the Hero of Orlais – enough to bend canon and the geography of Thedas to bring them together a little sooner! Even if they don't recognize each other at first! Silly romantics.

Cassandra responds to Cullen from Luke 8:17. Justinia asks Cassandra to recite from Matthew 6:12 and Matthew 5:7.

If you have a moment to leave a comment, I'd really love to hear from you! :)


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